


from the Latin "monstrum"

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Series: The things that make me different [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied Violence, Mention of torture, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Pre-Canon, War, Worldbuilding, implied suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: The English were left to their war, though, because of the way they ignored Grindelwald’s march - until the great, lazy Dumbledore finally bestirred himself to stand against the dark one at Nurmengard, just as the Muggles’ War was ending. Bellona would not dare to speak such a thing at school, where even her housemates hold Professor Dumbledore in a begrudgingly hallowed regard, but she thinks that he must be a coward, to have waited so long to stand against Grindelwald.The House of Poitiers of Valence and Clan Gadolin of Taivolkovski, during Grindelwald's war.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: The things that make me different [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1398388
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46





	from the Latin "monstrum"

**Author's Note:**

> For [bourbonboatsandbows](http://bourbonboatsandbows.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

_ Visions _

Only the wizards are surprised when the war begins.

Mémé and La Melusine have already summoned the clans to conclave at Orléans when Grindelwald of Nurmengard declares his intentions. Invidia, armed and armoured, is ready for it. Invidia is scared of nothing, not even Mémé and Maman’s reproach when she sneaks Feronia across the border to visit with her papa in Turin, and she has trained with sword and bow all her life. Perhaps it is the restlessness in her, but perhaps it is that Invidia, sterner than Europa, had a more realistic lack of faith in diplomacy.

Feronia loves both of her sisters. Of course she does. But it is easier to love Invidia, who expects less of her.

Europa, of course, is perfect. She sits still and lovely at Maman’s right hand while Maman sits at Mémé’s, and she greets guests seeking counsel and guests seeking refuge with equal grace and elegance, her black-and-white robes always immaculate. 

Feronia does what she can, when she is not fighting with Tante Carmenta about  _ visits _ . There are other midwives in southern France, no matter what her aunt thinks, and she does not need Feronia’s assistance as much as Europa and Invidia do. Maman would have Feronia remain in Valence and sit on her hands, but what does Maman know? She has never fought in a war. She kept pregnant all during the last one, and left the fighting to Mémé and the aunts and cousins. 

Mémé cannot fight this time. She broke her shoulder so badly in the last war that it pains her to fly at all, much less in combat, but she has made sure that even reluctant Europa has training. Her sisters, Tante Nerio of the sword and Tante Pellonia of the shield, have worked with all the clans, even les Melusines, and they will gather all the clan leaders to Orléans to answer the call to war.

* * *

It is during training that Europa nearly kills Invidia. 

Mercifully, Tante Nerio forbid them from sparring with live steel, and so Invidia can catch the dull blade in her hand and push it aside. Europa is usually the most controlled of them, and even Invidia is concerned to see her this way. She and Invidia fight constantly, shouting and fuming at one another, but this is different. This is colder and much, much, meaner - Feronia is glad that Invidia does not usually see this. Europa says terrible things that cannot be forgotten when she is like this, but at least she only says them to Feronia.

“Explain to us,” Invidia says, and Europa  _ snarls. _

“This war,” she says, throwing down her sword. It clatters on the flagstones, and Feronia thinks this must have something to do with Europa’s father - no one else makes her so angry. Feronia would share her own papa, if she thought it might help. “This  _ fucking  _ war! It is making fools of everyone around us, all because some stupid half- _ English _ Austrian has decided that we are monsters!”

“I am no monster,” Feronia says, raising her sword in challenge to distract Invidia from her rising temper. Best let Europa get this out of her system so that she might be her usual self again. “I will die before I let the wizards convince me otherwise.”

Invidia steps into the fight. She is taller and stronger, but slower - slower still because of the goblin-made chainmail she wears everywhere now. She has not taken it off since she and Tante Hersilia dared a visit to Toulouse and returned ahead of whips and curses.

“My uncle has been taken,” Europa says at last. “To Nurmengard Castle.”

Europa hates her father, most of the time, but she still visits Gnesau every summer for the sake of her uncle and cousin. To think that Leopold, who always sends Europa home from her visits with gifts and sweets for everyone in Valence because she so enjoys the giving, might be suffering at the wizards’ hands? That is enough to upset Feronia, and he is not even her uncle!

“Jakob has told me not to come, that Uncle Leopold is beyond helping, and Maman  _ agreed.  _ She has forbidden me from going to Austria. The Beausoleils are leaving for conclave next week, and Maman has already written to Madame Odile to make certain I do not join them!”

Feronia has had a series of stern talkings-to from Mémé about Maman’s role in this war and the previous, and is grudgingly mollified. She can see no great valour in letter-writing and secret-keeping, but perhaps she will learn.

“You’d better not intend on following them on your own,” Invidia warns. “The Beausoleils are Silvan, and you could not keep to their paths without their permission. Maman is right to keep you away from Nurmengard, Europa. No one returns from that place. And besides, you must be here when Mémé and Maman leave for conclave, you know that.”

“Jakob said that too,” Europa says peevishly. “But there must be  _ something  _ I could do! What use is there in being one of les Valentinoises if I am of no use?”

It is so strange to see fierce Invidia so reasonable, to see serene Europa so upset. Feronia wonders what changes her sisters see in her.

_ Portents _

Aleksi fought when his mother sent them away, but Äita was unmoved. She packed his things and put him in his brother’s care, and sent them off to Hamburg to collect Cousin Dagmar. Äita does not trust the Rusalka, who are already laying claim to the eastern reaches of Karelia, and there are rumours that they have made some sort of peace with Grindelwald of Nurmengard’s wizards, across the Gulf. That is why Aleksi and Balder must leave, no matter how much they might wish to stay and fight. 

Aleksi does not fight  _ hard,  _ because there is nothing he hates so much as to upset his mother. Had he known that this was to be their last farewell, he might have fought harder.

As it is, they are too busy sneaking Dagmar out of a city overrun with Muggle evil and wizarding malice, across the Danish border and up to Copenhagen. Äita sent word to Doña Enara, who has come here from Basque Country with the wealth and wisdom of her Anjanas to set up a field hospital and refuge, to expect them. The Scandinavians are the fiercest fighters in Europe, and while their Muggles have failed, their Veela have not - Balder is even more annoyed than Aleksi at having to accept their hospitality as sanctuary.

But then they are busy once more. Balder is a remarkable healer, and Doña Enara wastes no time in setting him to work. He starts on burns and sprains, but soon is working on curse-wounds and broken wings, and he has no time for Aleksi. 

Doña Enara finds plenty of work for him, though. Aleksi is incomparably quick in the air, and so he is out on a supply run when Cousin Helmi comes from home, worn to skin and bone and barely able to speak. Balder tends to her wounds, and is waiting on the dockside for Aleksi when her returns from his mission.

“She was offering sanctuary,” Balder says quietly, holding tight to Aleksi’s hands. “To the Karelians, and to everyone fleeing across the Gulf. Helmi said it was Rusalka and wizards together. They burned the house, and- and Äita and the rest in it.”

Äita cannot be dead. She  _ can’t.  _ Äita is strong and brave and smart, and she cannot be- she  _ isn’t- _

Balder holds him tight and lets him cry. He is too old for this, but Balder will never tell anyone, not even Helmi. 

Aleksi  _ hates _ the wizards. He  _ hates  _ them! The Rusalka at least are fighting an old, familiar fight, but what business had the wizards in Taivolkovski? What business have they, doing  _ any  _ of this!

“Will you be alright if I go back inside?” Balder asks, eventually. “The leader of the Orléans conclave has arrived, and Doña Enara is insisting I meet with her. Would you like to come?”

“I’ll stay here a while,” Aleksi says, the cool breeze off the water stinging his hot face. “Äita always liked the water.”

Balder ruffles his hair and leaves him to the harbour, which is quiet in the moonlight. His chest feels empty, worse than it was after their father’s death, and the water is soothing - he understands, suddenly, why Äita liked it so much.

He does not look up when someone joins him on the dockside. The clink of her armour is unfamiliar, but that is not unusual these days. So few are familiar, now.

“You look next to death,” she says, nudging her heavy boot against his own. Her Danish is new-learned, clearly, and her silvery hair is in beringed war braids. “Are you well?”

“I  _ am  _ next to death,” he says, wondering for a moment if she is some forgotten cousin - but no. Only a daughter of the French clans would wear a cockadee like that, and they have no cousins west of the Rhine save in Luxembourg. “My family. My home. My  _ mother.” _

Her mouth twists unpleasantly, and in the quiet, she offers him her hand. It is scarred, and he is glad of it. That means that she is not simply watching the war go by. 

“I am a Valentinoise,” she says. “Invidia. I lost my grandmother and both parents at conclave in Orléans. Fiendfire. You?”

“Aleksi Gadolin,” he says, letting her pull him upright. “Son of Astyr.”

“Ah! Your brother leads the  Pärnu conclave now, then. I wonder has my sister picked a fight with him yet?”

Somewhere inside, in this city of tents that is all they have been able to manage so far, someone is shouting. This is not unusual, except that they are shouting in French.

“There she goes,” Invidia says. “Come, Aleksi Astyrsson, let me introduce you to my sister.”

True enough, it is Invidia’s sister who is shouting - they are very alike, for all that La Valentinoise is dressed in beautiful white flying robes that are insultingly unsullied - but Balder is shouting back at her. Aleksi sits down to watch, because he cannot remember the last time he got to see anyone shout at Balder.

“Does your brother speak French?” Invidia asks, sitting down beside him. 

“As much as your sister speaks Finnish,” he says. “Does anyone ever shout back at her?”

“Me,” Invidia says. “But this is  _ much _ better. He’s so much louder than I am.”

* * *

Europa de Poitiers is taller than Aleksi thought, when she is not standing in direct comparison to Balder. She has changed out of her snowy silks into a less martial version of Invidia’s simple, practical clothes, but she still holds herself apart from the filth that they can never quite get rid of.

“I think,” she says, kicking the leg of an empty trestle bed and watching, unimpressed, as it collapses, “that I might be of considerable help. Here and elsewhere.”

Balder rolls his eyes, but other than that they never leave La Valentinoise’s face. Interesting. Balder is not usually so obvious.

“I have more money than I can ever spend,” she says, shrugging. “Especially now that I will be seizing the assets of the traitor clans, and of any wizard who raised a wand against us.”

The French Veela are the wealthiest, aside from those on the Caucasus who gather their tolls, and the grandest. Few others use human titles and trappings, but the French clans do, along with the Valentinoises holding their bank and the Melusines growing their shipping empire, and all the other  _ powers _ they wield. The wizards set the fire that burned the conclave at Orléans, it’s true - but who told them where conclave was? 

If the wizards are coming after the Orléans conclave, with or without inside help, it speaks volumes to their confidence. 

“Let us take their money,” Europa says, clenching her fists so that all her many silver rings catch the flicker of candlelight like diamonds, “their  _ tainted  _ gold, and put it to better use. How much do you need?”

Balder names a figure that makes Aleksi sweat, and Europa shrugs. Shrugs! 

“We don’t even need the confiscated assets for that,” Invidia says, leaning on her sword, and perhaps this is all a very strange dream, or a hallucination. Aleksi cannot imagine ever being so casual about such an awful lot of money. “And spread the word, will you? Our vaults are the most secure in Europe. We welcome any who seek protection.”

“Typical,” Balder scoffs, still looking at Europa. “You see nothing but wealth, do you?”

“Have you ever been in the catacombs, beneath Paris?” Invidia asks, cutting off another row before it can truly start. “They are tombs, yes? But they are also a city.”

“Valence stands on our wealth,” Europa says. “A city beneath the city.  _ Spread the fucking word. _ ”

Balder looks set to argue more, and might have done had Aleksi not caught him by the wrist.

“The letters,” he says, blushing when everyone looks at him like he’s a fool. “The last ones I intercepted, Balder, the  _ letters _ -”

“Oh,” Balder says, turning his arm so he can take Aleksi’s hand. “Yes. I see.”

Doña Enara always requests Aleksi when she has a sensitive delivery to be made, and if he perhaps leans into being her favourite a little because he has missed Äita - and will more, now - what of it? 

He does his best to listen in on the wizards, and while he cannot get close enough in wayhouses and bars to overhear their conversations without being recognised for Veela, well - owls like Veela better than they do humans, for the most part.

He reads as many letters as he can, love letters and battle plans and vile things that he gives directly to Doña Enara, who burns them after reading. She has nearly as much money as the French clans and twice as many friends. She can check the letters for truth, and can try and set to right the wizards’ wrongs without ever leaving Copenhagen.

He is being used as a spy, because he is fast and smart and speaks more languages than most of the other couriers. He is also disposable, in a way that Balder is not. He does not mind that as much as he perhaps should, but so it is - what does it matter if he dies, if in dying he helps win the war?

The last round of letters gave them their first real insight into just what Grindelwald and his generals do in their fortress at Nurmengard. Balder had to sit with him for hours after that trip, just the two of them in the quiet of the harbour, until Aleksi no longer felt sick.

“There are things being done in Nurmengard,” Balder says, looking at Aleksi, and  _ only  _ at Aleksi. “Things that I do not know that we can fix. There may be plenty who would appreciate the kind of sanctuary your vaults can offer.”

Europa and Invidia exchange a look of queasy confusion, and Aleksi makes a note to ask Doña Enara to explain - she has a stronger stomach than him.

“They will die for it,” Balder says, completely to Aleksi. “I promise you that they will.”

“No, they won’t,” Aleksi says. “They are wizards and witches, brother. What court will value our lives as highly as theirs?”

Aleksi has not seen any of the wizards’ Veela victims, but he knows it is only a matter of time. The Merfolk with their gills glued shut and the dryads with their palms and soles scored and the sirens with their throats so carefully cut, he’s seen them, but no Veela.

No Veela has yet escaped Nurmengard.

_ Omens _

The aunts will pay for their inability to control Feronia. Invidia will make sure of that.

Well, that is unfair. Mémé’s sisters are weak with grief for a sister they have known and loved for a century and more, and they are managing the bank and all its many faces in Europa’s absence. But what of Carmenta? Of Hersilia? Do Maman’s sisters think themselves without obligation to Maman’s daughters?

Hersilia at least comes with Feronia. Carmenta’s cowardice has stopped even her hallowed  _ visits,  _ and she now demands that mothers both expectant and new risk the journey to Valence for her services. 

Perhaps it is just Carmenta that she will kill. Europa would support her in that, she knows.

Feronia and Hersilia are to meet her in Turin, by invitation of Feronia’s papa. It is Invidia’s last and least likely idea to keep Feronia from the war, but it  _ might _ work. Of the three of them, only Feronia is close to her father - Europa’s father cares nothing for anything beyond the bounds of Gnesau, and Invidia’s papa was killed at Orléans so there is no being close to him anymore - so she  _ might  _ listen to him. 

_ Might. _

“Perhaps I should have come to her,” Eufrasio says. “Perhaps I should never have let Strenua take her to Valence in the first place.”

Maman would never have allowed her daughter to be raised anywhere  _ but _ Valence, but that does not matter now. No matter if she was rasied a de Poitiers or a de Savoia, Feronia would have been the same shrewd, stubborn brat Invidia loves so well. 

The  _ tall  _ brat, apparently - Hersilia has always been tallest of them all, but Invidia is unsure which of the two spiraling toward them from the sky is her sister and which her aunt. Knowing that Maman and Mémé will never see Feronia an adult hits like a fist to the gut.

“She would have rebelled, had we tried to keep her in Valence much longer,” Invidia says, waving skyward. “At least if we convince her to stay here, she will be safe, and will not feel quite so cooped up.”

It is not a great journey from Turin to Corsica, either. The dryads on the island have always been friends to les Valentinoises, and even this Grindelwald’s magics have not yet penetrated their defences. Feronia would be safe there, if she proves unsafe here.

“I’m not  _ staying,  _ Papa!” she says, not bothering to lower her wings before greeting them - she kisses her father on both cheeks, and swats him away so she might do the same to Invidia. “Do not baby me, Invidia! I can fight almost as well as you, and better than Europa!”

“Europa does not fight,” Invidia says, immensely displeased to find that Feronia is now visibly taller than her. “She pays for the war.”

_ And pretends not to be half in love with Aleksi’s brother, _ but that’s none of Invidia’s business.

Europa has always been the most careful of them, patient in a way Invidia envies, so her eagerness to effect change during the war has been strange. Some of it is because she has lost so much - Maman and Mémé, of course, but of her papa’s family only he and a handful of her cousins have survived, and they have done that by fleeing south first to Greece and then east to the Caucasus, and from there who knows? Europa has not had word of them in months, so far as Invidia knows - but more of it is because she feels somehow responsible for it all, or guilty of it. 

That makes no sense to Invidia, but it has stirred Europa as nothing else ever has. She will accept it as useful, and figure it out when they again have peace.

“I will fight, though,” Feronia snaps, wings in and face returned to its usual loveliness. “If you don’t let me, I’ll find someone who will.”

“Come, bella,” Eufrasio says, gathering her under his arm and kissing her temple, over and over as though that might convince her. “Come, eat, and then we might talk of such things.”

* * *

Invidia is playing her part in the war, too. 

Feronia cannot be allowed be part of this, even as she fights to  _ play her part,  _ but Aleksi is - there is no one faster or wilier, and Doña Enara trusts him above all others. Some of that is because her son, Balendin, was so like Aleksi, but mostly it is because Aleksi has time and again proven that he is worthy of that trust.

And so it is that he is on this mission with Invidia. 

Grindelwald’s generals are scattered all over the continent, but they gather in twos and threes once a month to discuss strategy. 

“Balder has been learning French,” Aleksi whispers, somewhere to her left. “And he has been asking questions.”

“Oh,  _ dear,” _ Invidia sighs. Europa has been learning Finnish, too, hopefully with the intention of making some grand, foolish, romantic gesture to Balder. Perhaps if she realises her romantic frustrations, it will unplug the well of her emotions and allow her to cry for Maman and Mémé. “We will have to nudge them along, for all our sakes.”

Durant set the Fiendfire on conclave at Orléans. His companion, Semjonov, was the one who brokered the alliance between the wizards and the Rusalka who crept toward Taivolkovski, one across the Gulf and the other from conquered Karelia. Invidia and Aleksi have been waiting for this chance for months.

Aleksi is almost as good with a bow as she is. His target is larger, so the difference does not matter.

Invidia’s arrows are fletched with her own feathers. That is traditional, for a blood debt. 

“If my arrow strikes first,” Aleksi says, “you have to suggest to Europa that she ask Balder out for dinner.”

Invidia has already suggested just that, with Eszter Báthory’s eager support. The Countess exhausts Europa, because for all that they are not the monsters that vampire-bitten Erzsébet became, the Báthorys are imperious and high-handed even among equals and betters. 

Europa has taken a great deal upon herself, trying to stand among all the leaders of the other clans and conclaves, but she is so much younger than them, so much less experienced, that it is exhausting her. Perhaps that is why she and Balder have drawn so close to one another - no one else can understand their burdens as well as they do.

“Europa is already out for my blood because I failed to lock Feronia in the vaults,” she whispers, adjusting her position just a little - Durant is a thin man, so her aim must be true. “Do you think she will let me away with teasing her even a little? Do not play the fool, Aleksi.”

Perhaps it is because they are distracted that the wizards - two, and a witch - get behind them. They have shears, and Aleksi’s wings are still extended, and-

He flies enough to get away. Invidia’s sword is faster than their clumsy wandwork. 

She takes to the air in his wake, his blood hot on her face in the cold night. His wings are snowy and grey-washed stain, and even by moonlight she can see a little of what’s been done. She has never seen the like of it. She does not understand how three people could do so much harm in so little time.

They have to stop three times. How Aleksi makes the flight, she will never know, but they do. Dawn is limning the harbour in gold and white when they finally swoop over the city.

Aleksi is sobbing when they hit the ground - and they do  _ hit.  _ Invidia’s shoulders are burning, but she got him here. She got him home to Balder, even though his wings-

Oh, his  _ wings.  _ Balder and Europa are with them so quickly that they must have been waiting on the dockside, no doubt ready to tear their heads off for undertaking such a foolishly dangerous mission. 

Invidia tries to help when Balder gathers Aleksi close. It is just that she cannot lift her arms. It is just that all she can see is Feronia hurt, is Europa hurt, is Maman and Mémé and Papa before the Fiendfire consumed them.

More people come to help Aleksi. Everyone loves Aleksi, so of course they will come for him.

“Come, sister,” Europa says, carefully guiding Invidia to her feet, and then inside. “Come, tell Feronia and me all that has happened.”

Aleksi is weeping, his head resting in Balder’s lap and Doña Enara herself working on his poor battered wings. Invidia might weep as well.

“His arrow hit first,” she says, hysteria building to laughter, or tears - she is not sure. “So you must ask Balder to have dinner with you, Europa. He wanted- will he fly again?”

“If anyone can set him to rights, it is Balder,” Europa says. “I trust him entirely.”

It does not matter anymore, but Durant and Semjonov are dead, too.

_ Metamorphosis _

Europa is pulling on her undershirt when he wakes up, disappearing the beautiful line of her spine under soft linen.

“Stay?” he asks, knowing she won’t.

“How is Aleksi?” she asks, sliding her rings onto her fingers. 

Aleksi, though - Balder feels green just to think of it. They’ve heard the stories, of course, and he’s seen enough evidence of the torture Grindelwald’s disciples visit on merfolk and dryads and all the others, right to the vampires who’ve come to him with bleeding, empty gums. Aleksi is the first Veela to suffer their madness and escape.

Aleksi, who may never fly again. His wings are still too injured to withdraw, and Balder dares not ask a witch or wizard for help, even though their ingredient stores are so low and they’ve lost three of their best healers in blitz attacks in the past two months. Balder cannot quite look himself in the eye when he shaves, because Aleksi has been his to watch since he was born, even while their mother lived, and he has failed his brother. 

“He is as well as can be expected,” is all he says. “Europa-”

He’s heard a superstition that to wear a ring on the wedding finger promises a life alone, but such things do not worry Europa. She leaves only her right index finger bare, and then turns to find her skirt.

“I’m leaving for Valence this morning,” she says, long fingers quick and sure as she braids her hair. She does not wear the heavy, beringed war braids her sisters favour, nor the sturdy boots and armoured flight leathers - oh, no. Europa is la Valentinoise, and Europe might be burning but no one will ever be allowed to forget her place in it. 

Balder is her equal, but there are too many who need his help to think on it for long. If he does, he will collapse under the weight of it.

“Banking?” he asks, unable to keep the edge of sneer from his voice. He looks for his own clothes, immediately dismissing yesterday’s shirt for the yellow stains and red-brown splatter. “How noble.”

“Supplies, actually,” she says, withering as only she can be. “I know you think me useless, Balder-”

“I have  _ never-” _

“Everyone does,” she cuts across him. “I have learned to ignore it.  _ I  _ know my worth. I’ve had your quartermaster write up a list, and Enara and I will see everything on it delivered. I have Anoush Eruandid over a barrel, so you will have whatever you need from the Caucasus, and Eszter Báthory will transport it.”

He catches her by the hand before she can slip out of his tent, pulling her back around to face him. He loves her hands, her unscarred hands with all their beautiful, impractical rings.

“Europa,” he says, and she softens immediately. “Look at me, my love. Look me in the eye.”

She does not trust that he loves her, but of course he does. He would not have allowed her so deep into their secrets if he did not trust her, and he would not have welcomed her into his bed if he did not love her. His trust alone should be proof of his love. He wonders if it speaks more to his reserve or her lack of faith, that she does not believe him.

“I have work to do,” she says, touching his mouth, the corner of his jaw, the notch of his collarbone. He can feel the flush trailing behind her fingertips, and wishes he could raise the same sort of reaction in her. “And it is to this place that Feronia will return from whatever  _ mission _ Doña Enara has sent her on, so I will be back. For my sisters.”

_ Not for you,  _ he hears, whether she means it or not. There is not a woman in Europe as hard as Europa Orphne de Poitiers when she raises her wall.

* * *

Europa is watching him wash Aleksi’s face when Doña Enara finds them, with Eszter Báthory and Eufrasio Savoia on her heels. Others have been gathering here all week, all the conclave leaders west of the Urals, but he has been too busy to pay them much heed.

“My daughter speaks highly of you,” says the narrow-faced man between Enara and Eszter, looking Balder over head-to-heel before turning a cold smile on Europa. “Felix Lassnig. I lead the Alpine clans.”

Europa has her father’s eyes, but warmer. 

“Balder Gadolin,” he says, not offering his hand. Europa speaks little of her father and his family, and that in itself speaks volumes - she never shuts up about her aunts and sisters, especially Feronia. “ Pärnu conclave .”

Europa smiles just for him, just enough to show her teeth, and he feels right to distrust her father.

“We are waiting only for a few more now - the Caucasians, mostly,” Doña Enara says, watching the tension with interest. She has cautioned Balder against giving too much over to Europa, and hers is the only caution to which he has listened. She was a dear friend to Äita, and the Pyrennean Alliance deals more with the Orléans conclave than anyone else in Europe. “Anoush Eruandid sent word, she will be representing them - she and her sister are on their way from Kapan.”

“And what of Giorgos? Giorgos Othonos? I thought he was to lead the Aegeans.”

“Giorgos arrived with me,” Europa’s father says smoothly, shrugging his shoulders. “Anoush was due to leave with us, but she insisted on fighting.” 

Balder stands.

“Then I look forward to shaking her hand,” he says. Mercifully, one of the children is passing, and he seizes on her as a distraction to avoid a fight with Europa’s father, pressing her into the service of Aleksi’s care - Doña Enara tugs him neatly aside to wash his hands, and Europa follows. She stands close enough that Balder feels branded by the heat of her.

“Anoush is fantastic,” Doña Enara says cheerfully. “Don’t listen to Felix, he’s an idiot, but you’ll like Anoush and Giorgos, and I know you already like young Europa.”

“ _ My lady!” _

“Don’t be a baby,” she scolds, grinning hugely. “Now, you know little Dagmar, of course, she is leading the Low Countries, and I warn you that Adelhild Nilsson is just  _ dying  _ to pick a row with you, so hold your head.”

“I’m more likely to fight with Felix Lassnig than that Swedish idiot,” Balder promises. “When do we meet?”

“Whenever Anoush gets here, and the Iberians - oh, and Carmen Ionescu, out of Romania. Between her and dear Eszter they’ve gathered all who got out of Russia and came this way.”

The witches and wizards of the Muggles’ New Russia have no space for any who are not human, just as the Muggles have no space for anyone who is not a perfectly-fitting cog for their machine. The Báthorys are mad, but they will die before letting anyone under their care come to harm, and Äita always spoke well of Blue Carmen. 

“Soon, then,” Europa says, hand resting low on Balder’s back, right where his overshirt has ridden up, so there is only his scrubbed-thin undershirt between his skin and the heat of her palm. “We will be ready.”

_ Monsters _

Anoush and Siroun Eruandid arrive a little over a week later. 

Between them, they carry Carmen Ionescu.

Europa has met Carmen a time or two, while visiting in Gnesau. They call her  _ Blue  _ Carmen, but when the Caucasians get her into the infirmary, she is only red.

Balder comes running - no one has such fine stitches as him, save Europa herself. Hers were learned on silk stockings, but she has become nearly as good with a curved needle as she is with a straight one since she first came to Copenhagen.

Balder stitches and stitches and stitches, not stopping even when the little helpers pour water over Carmen’s back to wash away the blood. Europa’s white robes are pink, and then red, but she will not stop until Balder does.

There is so little skin left on Carmen’s back.

“There’s no point,” Balder says helplessly, once they have stitched the horrible flap-feathers of skin down and the bleeding  _ still  _ hasn’t slowed. “All we can do is wash her and wrap her and pray it won’t kill her before she heals. I don’t know what else to  _ do!” _

His eyes are blue as noon, horrified but serious - Europa wipes her hands as clean as she can on her skirts, and then she unwraps her shawl.

“Will this do? To start?”

Balder’s smile is like the sun, and together they get Europa’s shawl around Carmen. It’s red by the time the stretcher arrives, and Europa gives up her clothes and the day for a dead loss.

Carmen’s hand snaps out to dig into Balder’s trousers before she’s carried away.

“Tell the Valence girls,” she croaks. “You’re the oldest one’s lover, yes? Tell them - the little one, she is in Nurmengard.  _ Tell them.” _

* * *

Nurmengard is dark, and many-towered. Carmen told them that the beautiful prisoners, the ones the bastards intend to rape, are kept in the westernmost tower, nearest the water. They brand every Veela they can lay hands on, brand them so they cannot fly.

Europa would rather die than never take to the air again. What is a Veela who cannot fly?

Feronia clearly agreed. Her hair is white in the moonlight, on the dark, silty ground between castle wall and river, far below a thrown-wide window. Europa has not cried for Maman or Mémé or Uncle Leopold, but only the risk to Invidia keeps her from screaming for Feronia.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a worldbuilding doc, if anyone wants a cheat sheet to keep track [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Gh60K2uFO-POOlnoEgiPZbSmAcvKJrFzJlZ3d_CZW44/edit?usp=sharing).


End file.
